


Sentinel Prime Drabble Scrapbook

by Bunsuu



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: And lots of it., Aphrodisiacs, Belly Rubs, Drabbles and stuffies., Dubious Consent, Grinding, Hinted pet play, Leashes, Master/Pet, More tags will be added!, Multi, Other, Sexual Coercion, Shower Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-03-18 20:57:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 10,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3583722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunsuu/pseuds/Bunsuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sentinel Prime smut drabbles unrelated to any of my other works! Contains stuff like fluff and full-con to less pious things. Drabble titles will have ratings and a "!" next to the rating if there are squick warnings for the entry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1. Tummy Rubs (Mature)

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless fluff for everyone! 
> 
> No warnings.

Sentinel grimaced as his tanks rolled and ached restlessly, internal components demanding something to placate the storm of unrest inside. Patrol was always quiet when the jets were off tending to their own devices, which left Sentinel, Jazz, and Magnus aboard the bridge. The commander had retired early for the cycle; muttering something about not getting much recharge over the past few dark cycles as he left. Silence was maintained for a good joor or so before Sentinel's tanks began to rumble internally with displeasure. After a few kliks of this blooming ache within him, Sentinel had leaned back in his chair and massaged his midsection gently. His touch had no effect, unable to quell the surge of the yucky feeling in his tanks. 

To his surprise, white servos decended from behind him and shooed his clumsy ones away.

"Jazz...?"

"Shh. You probably got yourself too stressed out over somethin' again. Relax." Jazz's smooth vocals resonated clearly in Sentinel's audials, the vivid sensation causing the Prime to shiver.

Definitely, the Cyber-Ninja had done this before. Kneading gently and tenderly, Sentinel Prime relaxed into his co-worker/subordinate's touch. He found it curious that it felt good to let the 'bot tend to him. Really good, even. Too good...? The rising tempature of his frame wasn't a big indicator, but, the notification of his equipment coming online was. Jazz had seemed to notice this- slagging keen glitches, ninja are- and chuckled directly into his audial. If he had sounded smooth before, currently that chuckle sounded like liquid sin. 

"May I? Helping you rewind for once wouldn't be a hassle, 'ya dig?" A fingertip softly tapped at his interface panel, directly over his valve. 

"I... yeah... go ahead, I mean... Jazz, you may." Sentinel stuttered, noticibly reticent compared to his usual manner. 

The panel slid aside, granting access to his most... untouched piece of his equipment. If there was anyone that Sentinel trusted with such things-- or most anything, really- it was Jazz. A delicate brush of digits across the moderately slickened folds of Sentinel's warm port drew a gasp from the Prime. 

"If you want me to stop at any time, or if something feels uncomfortable, tell me and I'll stop, okay?"

"Mhmmm..." 

With permission officially granted, the fingers pressed down fully upon the rim, rubbing up and down; side to side; even in gentle circles luxuriously slowly. Primus, Jazz was truly adroit. Moaning, Sentinel melted further into his subordinate's servo; knots of contempt, stress, doubt, all of those complex emotions were gone with each movement of Jazz's fingers. 

When Jazz finally breached the entrance of his valve Sentinel could do nothing but mewl blissfully and lean into the soft kisses being showered upon his helm.


	2. 2. Caught in the act ( ! )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Older drabble that's been completed for a while.  
> CARTE BLANCHE SUB STORY
> 
> ... though this is about 8 chapters ahead. (I've not updated Blanche in a while because I have been working on an outline for each chapter. It helps.)
> 
>  
> 
> ( ! ) Kind of hints at dubcon.

"My, how eager you are tonight, my pet!" Alpha Trion chuckled.

When the old Autobot had retired to his chambers after reading, he had been pleasantly surprised to walk in to find Sentinel Prime with three fingers in his port and free servo wrapped around his spike. His temporary pet jumped and looked over his shoulder-pads with flushed faceplates. 

"Aww, poor thing. Did I leave you alone for too long so you got lonely? I know how you love your valve stuffed with things while I'm gone. Should I have plugged you up with a toy?" 

Sentinel shivered and whined, mortified to find himself in this situation. Shamefully, being caught self-servicing by this mecha who was, as of yet, mostly a stranger to the Prime was making his valve clench around his fingers desperately. Magnus had given him full dominion over how to 'care' for and if needed, punish Sentinel while he was away on business-- so long as the Prime wasn't heavily injured, of course. He was at Alpha Trion's mercy for three slagging solar cycles...! Which wasn't a very long time, but, Sentinel had the suspicion it was going to feel like longer.


	3. 3. Nightclub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz/Sentinel. Highgrade and references to drunken interfacing. 
> 
> Oh, and shameless grinding.

Drinking wasn't Sentinel's thing. Neither was dancing. So when Jazz had invited him out to get a cube of high grade or two he had braced himself for a night of boredom and maybe disappointment. In hindsight that was a foolish assumption to make. The evening started out moderately normal: gossiping about work over a cube of high grade in one of Jazz's favorite clubs. They must have lost track of time, because when the music began to boom and the lights dimmed or shut off that meant it was the time of night at which the club began to get a little... wild; in Jazz's words. 

At this point Sentinel had consumed around 7 cubes of very potent high grade, and, as a result, was quite overcharged. Jazz hadn't drank nearly as much though and held his high grade in well. Sentinel giggled and slyly nudged towards the group of people on the dancefloor, laughing at something only he knew about. This probably was what broke the ice and began the sequence of events that led to his current predicament. The charismatic Ninja had always been an avid partygoer and enjoyed dancing immensely.

If Sentinel had been sober he would have politely declined Jazz's servo beckoning him to follow his co-worker out to the intimidatingly flashing dancefloor. If he had been sober he wouldn't have flung himself into Jazz. If he had been sober he wouldn't have walked (a little bit unsteadily) in stead with Jazz. Well, he was far from sober. Sentinel actually wasn't too bad of a dancer, just, he was simply average. Especially compared to the ivory colored mech he was dancing with. He couldn't keep up with Jazz half the time, he was too busy gawking at each graceful but sharp movement of his frame. 

If there was one thing he remembered about when he had frequented parties as a cadet, it was that he spent a lot of time behind a cute femme who had caught his eye. But tonight maybe he'll be in front of a frame instead. Reaching out with both servos and pulling a surprised cyber-ninja over close to him, Sentinel winked and twisted around, allowing his aft to graze the silvery mech's lower half not quite dicreetly. His visor lit up in shock for a klik before Sentinel pressed his aft to that pelvic plating again, this time rocking to the beat of the rhythm. Jazz was only paralyzed by stupor for a moment until he chuckled and ground back into his captain's aft. White servos slid up his abdominal plating in what could have been considered an innocent gesture to an onlooker but Sentinel's foggy processor interpreted it as anything but. 

The lights on the dancefloor strobed in time with the music's bass, lighting up the polished plating which twisted gracefully across its' surface in prisms of every color. Sensually arching his backstruts to press back into the smaller frame, Sentinel's grinding became less of a dance and more like a blatant invitation to Jazz. Not that he had invited the navy mech out for the purpose of tapping that aft. Though, it was a very nice aft that was currently rubbing against his interface panel. Fraggin' tease. 

Sentinel's fans clicked on, barely audible to Jazz. Perhaps not a tease...?

"We should move this back to the booth before we frag right here on the dancefloor."

"Ooh Jazz...?" 

Sentinel's vocalizer's words were slurred, but the Prime was still able to properly stand so he wasn't helplessly overcharged. But it still would be a bad idea to order more, Jazz mused, noting the wobble in the blue mech's stride as he led his superior from the dancefloor. He plopped back down into the booth, likewise Sentinel pretty much stumbled into his seat. Thankfully the cubes were empty, so no more high grade for Sentinel. Now, where was Sentinel going to recharge? There's no way he's letting Sentinel transform and try to drive back to his hab suite like that. Maybe try and help him drive home? Well, he had a couple cubes as well so...

Jazz's thoughts were interrupted by a lapful of overcharged Prime. Sentinel had wiggled his way around the circular table and seats and climbed onto Jazz's lower half eagerly. He wrapped his arms around the Ninja's cervical struts with a wry expression on his faceplates. 

"And what do you think you're doing?"

"Nothin'..." 

"Sure, 'nothin'."

Jazz placed his servos on Sentinel's waist, which squirmed in his hold. Boldly, the Prime leaned in and stole a quick kiss with his drinking partner, which was quickly answered by a kiss stolen from his own derma by the ninja. Sentinel's helm dipped down, this time sliding his glossa across Jazz's derma playfully. Again there was a quick response from the white mech, who leaned forward and kissed the gray derma sultrily, his glossa slipping into Sentinel's intake. 

The arms wrung around Jazz's neck tightened, and the lap straddling his own lowered itself downwards, their heated panels pressing up against eachother. It was inevitable that the servos on Sentinel's waist began to wander. Jazz's left servo slid around to cup the Prime's aft, the other moving to stroke the inside of his thigh. Sentinel mewled into the kiss and unconsciously raised his hips up just a little further.

It was then that Jazz noticed the peculiar sensation of wetness on his lower half and detected the scent of lubricant just recognizable over the smell of potent high grade. Curiously, he trailed his fingertips up the inside of the thigh, engine revving when he grazed the slick trail of lubricant. His own fans kicked on as he followed the trail up to Sentinel's panel, gently stroking the leaking cover with his servo. To his surprise the panel immediately retracted at his touch, the freed lubricant splattering onto monochrome leg plating. 

Glancing around to make sure that nobody was paying much attention to them, Jazz experimentally traced the outer folds of Sentinel's valve. If the moan that Sentinel vocalized was any indication, he wanted to be touched right here and right now. Well, Jazz thought, he'd be happy to oblige. Deepening the kiss further, he pressed one of his digits into the opening of the valve until it was fully engulfed in the hot and moist mesh lining of Sentinel's valve. The music swallowed any sound that escaped the Prime, but just in case Jazz pulled back and hushed him. His superior nodded and thrust down onto his servo.

"Impatient?" 

"Jazz..."

Sentinel actually whined, his valve clenching on that single digit desperately. That was a tone he'd never expect to hear that vocalizer ever fall to. Truthfully, it was kind of, well, lewd; especially from Sentinel Prime's derma which were mere centimeters away from his audial. Of course, Jazz obliged him and pulled halfway out of the port and entered again with two this time. Another moan and rush of lubricant followed shortly after, Sentinel pawing at Jazz's back meekly. Experimentally scissoring the valve earned the cyber-ninja a loud gasp and whimper from Sentinel's staticky vocalizer. 

Yellow optics at the booth next to theirs snapped to Jazz's visor and stared at their explicit little show. Oh frag. Jazz smiled good-naturedly and waved with his free servo, making the mystery bot frown and turn back to their drink. Okay, maybe it was time to move the party to a more secluded area before they get ambushed by angry club-owners and bartenders. 

"Sentinel, let's take this to a berth before you start trying to force my panel open right here."

"Where? I didnn' see any berths around here."

Sentinel dazedly looked around the club for any sign of a berth of some form. It was cute but also kind of rediculous. The mech must not remember that he's at a club, Jazz mused. 

"Come on Sentinel, get up so we can leave."

The Prime made a noise of understanding and shimmied his way off of Jazz's lap. Unsubspacing a disposable cleaning cloth the ninja quickly wiped up the mess on his thighs and the seats. As he turned to throw the cloth in the closest garbage container Jazz found himself meeting the stranger's xanthous optics looking in their general direction again. The shadowy mech pointedly gestured towards where Sentinel was goofing off by himself. Why?

Jazz looked back over towards the table, seeing Sentinel standing in the middle of the walkway with his helm tilted upwards, probably transfixed by the lighting or something. For a moment, Jazz was confused. What did the stranger mean...? Then he spotted the bared valve that still looked like it was dripping lubricant. In an instant, Jazz rushed over and grabbed Sentinel's shoulderplates, pulling him around to look at him.

"You should close your panel." Jazz said as quietly as he could while remaining audible, holding onto the heavy blue plating tightly.

"Panel?" Sentinel looked down dazedly at his frame, confusion written on his faceplates. 

Primus, Sentinel was more overcharged than Jazz thought. 

"Your interface panel is open!" The ninja hissed. 

"Oh." 

The panel shut with a clang and Sentinel (finally) looked at Jazz again, optics overbright and a lopsided smile on his faceplate. Before the ninja was aware of what Sentinel was planning in that loopy processor of his the Prime had both of his servos on Jazz's chest as he leant forward. Their derma met in a sloppy kiss courtesy of Sentinel Prime; the Prime's derma moving almost desperately against Jazz's own. 

Jazz pried Sentinel from the kiss and practically dragged him out of the club, already making changes to his schedule to deal with a hungover and well-fragged Prime in the morning.


	4. Interrogation...? ( ! )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yo this chapter has warnings!
> 
> -Noncon  
> -Cumflation

Sentinel's faceplates were heavily flushed, optics flickering and mouthplate streaked with transfluid. He was kneeling on the berth with his legs spread far apart, a cover over his spike and valve exposed to the cold air. His wrists were cuffed together, and then tied to his captor's headboard, who just so happened to be intently fixated on the swollen lips of his valve, caressing it with one finger. As the digit massaged over his exterior node he gasped and wriggled with what stregnth Sentinel had left in his frame. Which wasn't much at all, his dented frame and the puddle of lubricants and transfluid beneath him testimony to this. It was embarassing; humiliating, for Sentinel to have overloaded as many times as he had. 

It was because of that weird, drugged energon they forced him to swallow, but that didn't comfort Sentinel at all! Primus, that didn't change the fact that he had been fragged senseless by the leader, the most infamous of all Decepticons. On top of that, he had been forced to ask politely for his spike! Instead of shoving it into his valve like he had asked, Sentinel had ended up with a mouthful of spike. Only after being face-fragged by the large helicopter and getting a face-and-mouthful of transfluid did Megatron return to his valve.

Sentinel bucked into the servo and whined, a pitiful, broken sound.

"Now now, Autobot. Don't get so eager." 

Grasping a hip with his free servo to hold Sentinel in place Megatron slipped two digits into the Prime's valve, gliding in smoothly due to the copious amounts of fluids already down there. Slowly thrusting the digits in and out he couldn't help but relish the way the walls squeezed at him desperately, pushing out more of the Autobot's lubricants. The sobs eminating from Sentinel's vocalizer mixed with how every movement he made with his servo made lewd squelching noises aroused him greatly. 

In all honesty it made the Autobot look like he was going to cry, which would just arouse him further. Internally Megatron debated on using another shot of synthetic charge inductors or to call it a day and wait until tomorrow to harass his new prisoner. The shaking frame looked really good right now, though; dents covered Sentinel's frame, finger-sized marks in several places on his body where Megatron had held onto while fragging him, paint transfers on his aft and shaking pelvic array. Best of all was his lower half, energon and transfluid dripped from the valve, whose rim was gaping from having a too-large spike shoved into it over and over again over the past few hours. His spike partially re-pressurized as he gazed at the depraved scene sprawled out and chained to his front below him.

Without a second thought he retracted his finger and sheathed his spike into the abused port immediately afterwards. Sentinel's hips jerked backward, a sharp and staticky cry escaping his vocalizer. Megatron moved in and out of the valve quickly, loving the sticky mess inside of it and how his captive no longer screamed at him to stop or even begged for more. He had broken him, it seemed. Sentinel Prime was his to do whatever he wished now; not much more than a berth toy. An obedient little slave, at least for today. He'd have to break him again tomorrow. 

To Megatron's surprise, that thought toppled him over the edge. He moaned loudly, pressing his pelvic plating flush to Sentinel's shaking aft. Transfluid seeped down into the gestation chamber, already quite full. Sentinel whimpered as he felt his overstuffed frame extend ever so slightly more. The bulge in his stomach plating made him feel full and filthy. He had taken -so- much transfluid...

With his aft in the air, both ports leaking transfluid, stasis cuff bound servos, whimpering and with his stomach plating distended from Megatron's transfluid he found the annoying Autobot wasn't as bad as the control-freak gloryhound he was notorious for being. In fact, the berth-toy was miles better than the fool. 

"This is quite the mess you've made," 'Of yourself' was not said but Sentinel knew it was implied, "I didn't expect you to be so depraved either, Autobot. Almost like a trained pleasurebot." 

Sentinel squirmed some more, optics closed tightly. Fluid dribbled down his burning cheekplates as he bit back a sob. It wasn't fair! He was no drone, he wasn't a toy to play with, he wasn't some no-good tyrant's whore! If he weren't tied down then Sentinel would have shown him a mess. A mess of Megatron's internals and energon, that is. 

"Or perhaps you aren't a buymech at all," Megatron casually slipped three digits into his valve for what had to be the 20th time that cycle, "Maybe you're just this wanton, coquettish, filthy," each adjective was characterized by Megatron pumping his digits roughly in and out of Sentinel. "...Just because nobody else will put you in your place; am I right?"

The warlord's digits hooked and rubbed against Sentinel's walls lazily. Sentinel gasped through the gag and moaned loudly, his hips jerking into Megatron's servo of their own accord. The sensitized nodes lining his valve lit up his neural net in a frenzy of mindless pleasure that erased any coherent thought within his processor and made it into a pile of 'good' 'there' 'yes', and 'Megatron'. Unconsciously raising his hips up to further expose his valve to Megatron, more of his lubricant leaked out and rolled down his thighs, his abdominal plates, and Megatron's servo.

"See what I mean? Filthy."

The only response he got from the Autobot was a needy mewl and another buck of his hips. 

"Go on then, ride my servo, if you're so desperate." 

And Sentinel did just that. Megatron didn't move an iota, watching his prisoner rock down onto the digits in his port like some form of mechanimal in heat. Such a wanton little Autobot. Perhaps he could stall negotiations with Autobot command for a while to play a little bit longer?


	5. Be A Good Bot ( ! )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yo written really fast because my mind decided 'DO IT NOW YOU MOTHERFRA-'
> 
> Warnings!
> 
> -Dubious Consent / Sexual Extortion  
> -Dub-con Pet Play

Trion's personal drone answered the door and directed Sentinel down a dark hallway, before leaving without another word. He walked the unfamilliar corridor slowly, soon coming upon an open door that led to the study, where Trion sat, reading a data pad. Behind the Guild leader were far-off stars that looked like glitter; it was late, and most of the large buildings in Metroplex had windows that were dark as of this joor. 

"Sentinel Prime, I see you've decided to accept my offer. Excellent. I'm glad we'll get to know eachother better," Trion's voice drew Sentinel's optics to the red-plated Autobot. "Now, it is quite late, don't you think?"

The data pad was sat down on a table next to the reclining chair, and Alpha Trion stood up and crossed the room in a few nanokliks. Stopping in front of Sentinel, Trion smiled benignly as he placed a heavy servo on Sentinel's chestplates, eclipsing the Autobrand beneath it. 

"It's time we got some recharge, isn't it? Don't worry, sweetspark. I'll be gentle... for the most part." He leaned in, purring directly into Sentinel's audial and making the Prime get shivers down his spinal struts. 

Primus, how was Sentinel going to get through the next few joors? By doing what you're told, his processor supplied, by following the rules of the contract. Nodding jerkily, Sentinel swallowed dryly. Trion side-stepped Sentinel and to the door, beckoning Sentinel to follow him before exiting the study soundlessly. Obediently following Trion, Sentinel was led through a couple winding hallways before coming to a stop before another room; the doors large and ominous. They opened and Alpha Trion sauntered inside, not looking back at Sentinel. Taking a deep vent, the Prime followed, cautiously stepping into the berthchamber. A couple steps after he entered, the door slammed shut and locked behind him, making him jump. 

"Get on the berth, please." Said berth was luxuriously large, with blue sheets and pillows in abundance. 

Trion dimmed the lights, humming an old tune whilst approaching a storage unit and picking up an object which Sentinel couldn't make out the identity of. Sighing quietly, Sentinel did as he was told and climbed onto the berth. Not sure of quite how he was supposed to be sprawled over the soft sheets, he sat awkwardly in the center of it, resembling some sort of statue. The Guild chairman turned around to face Sentinel, laughing at the rigid posture he had adopted on his berth. Narrowing his optics, Trion stalked over to his berth, azure optics fixated on the pretty, little frame that had sat down on it. Within a few moments Alpha Trion joined the Prime on the plush surface, lifting the object up to Sentinel's neck cabling. There was no way to deny whatever attentions the older 'bot wished to fawn upon him with, so long as he's in this building. Strange noises filled the room that Sentinel couldn't remember ever hearing; something was looped around his neck cabling and then clasped together before another clasp followed afterwards. 

"I knew that you would look precious in this collar. So long as you're a good bot, Sentinel," Trion gently pushed the Prime onto his backstruts, grinning hungrily down at Sentinel. "I'll be gentle. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Alpha Trion."

Yanking on the leash that was attached to the collar roughly, Trion tsked mockingly. "When you're with me in private, you will address me solely as 'Master', are we clear, my cute little bot?"

Sentinel shivered again, harder than before.

"Yes, Master..."

Trion's panel slid aside, the legnth pressurizing immediately.

"Good bot... now, open up for me."


	6. To Be Rewarded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sentinel/Magnus.

Sentinel wasn't quite sure what was being said by the foreign diplomat on screen. Details of what the organic was saying escaped him, but he had a general idea of what was being discussed. It was difficult to keep his frame from twitching awkwardly whilst maintaining his neutral expression. The private comm link he shared with Ultra Magnus pinged after the creature stopped talking for a few nanokliks. Making sure his vocalizer was ready to work without glitching, Sentinel straightened his back struts slightly more. 

"Understood. We will be awaiting the arival of the shield generators; thank you. Will they be on board a Seuressian ship or a ship from another locale?" Sentinel read the script given to him via comm link aloud, desperately hiding the waver in his voice as Magnus moved his fingers in and out of Sentinel's port faster and harder.

The diplomat's facial features became pensive for a moment. "A Seuressian ship is probable, but if things change I will contact you. Expect the delivery to be made within three to four stellar cycles. It's always a pleasure doing business with Cybertron. Thank you!"

Abruptly, thankfully, the screen went dark as the diplomat signed off. Sentinel let out the keen that had been harder and harder to keep inside and rocked back into Magnus' servo. Beside him, sitting in the rarely-used captain's chair, Ultra Magnus chuckled and rubbed at the slick walls of the valve clutching his digits a little before deciding to oblige his sub-commander by thrusting the four fingers in and out roughly. Predictably, Sentinel gasped and braced both servos on the console in front of him, spreading his legs further and arching his backstruts to better present his shaking lower half to his superior. 

"Sir! Sir, please...!" 

"We aren't done yet, Sentinel. You have to contact Optimus' team next. Once you're finished with that," Magnus paused for effect; skillfully aiming for the ceiling node on the next inward push, making Sentinel wail and messily overload hard for what had to be the 7th time that joor. "You can lick up the mess that you've made of the floor and my leg. Then, I think, we should visit the washracks to clean you up."

"Yes, Sir." The Prime definitely needed a good solvent wash, if the thick globs of lubricant running down both legs was any indication. 

Going to the washracks with Magnus always meant that he was going to be pampered by the old mech. They would often end up fragging again- Ultra Magnus liked to pin Sentinel against the wall under the solvent spray and have his way with him; which would end in them cleaning each other off. Afterwards, Magnus usually waxed his plating and then fed him energon treats while they cuddled on his berth until Sentinel slipped into recharge. It was one of many of their routines that had developed over time. 

Standing up proudly again, even as more excess lubricant splattered onto the Magnus' leg, Sentinel brought up his old friend's contact info and pressed the 'Call' command.

The fingers in his port began to move vigorously again as Optimus' faceplates appeared on the screen in front of Sentinel.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> QuietShadow's prompt! 
> 
> Sentinel/Kup: Naughty Drill Sergeant
> 
> I actually had a lotta fun with this one. Wanna write more of it, actually.

It had begun after Sentinel went to the local rev-club out of a curiousity born from his explicit... data pads that he had used to sate himself for most of his functioning after his final upgrade. A smoky place, where dancers had displayed every aspect of their anatomy shamelessly beneath pulsing lights. The experience had really... inspired his processor. He longed for some form of 'intimate contact', but both his friends hadn't been interested. Optimus just sputtered static for a while with ruby faceplates, and Elita had said that she's saving herself for someone special.

Which kind of stung, actually; Sentinel wasn't a 'someone special', sadly.

So, defeated, he had taken to locking himself in the washracks at odd times of the solar cycle to try and rid himself of the charge. What Sentinel hadn't expected, though, was actually running into his drill sergeant doing the same one solar cycle. At this point, his panel was leaking, beads of lubricant rolled down his thighs that shook with his frame's charge. He had run into Kup's back after locking the door; making the blue 'bot startle and yelp. 

They confronted each other with surprise, but...

One thing had led to another, and now Sentinel was here, his servos on the wall and his back to his instructor.

Kup smiled mischievously and ran a servo up Sentinel's thigh, to his aft, playfully squeezing it. But his servo lingered there, squeezing less playfully and more assertively. Sentinel shivered as Kup's servo slid to the left, getting a better feel of his backside. To the Prime's embarrassment, beneath his interface panel he felt his valve get strangely... hot. Then two servos moved to his inner mid-thighs and stroked upwards, pushing Sentinel's legs apart. His drill sergeant pressed up against his backstruts, derma grazing the Prime's neck cabling. The warm frame behind Sentinel drove his tempature higher and higher; especially his panel, which felt like it was burning up now. Kup ground his panel against Sentinel's aft, pulling a quiet groan from the Prime's vocalizer. Unconsciously, Sentinel leaned back, his aft firmly upon Kup's codpiece. Nipping at Sentinel's audial fins, Kup reached down and stroked the Prime's panel. Lubricant was dripping from the seams, making Kup chuckle and rub firmly on the piece of heated metal. 

"Oh...!" Sentinel bit his derma as he arched back and rocked his hips back and forth in time with the movements of Kup's servo. 

His drill sergeant moved with him, and Kup's panel felt good against his plating. So warm and good...! Without thinking, he ground hard against his superior lewdly, trying to sate his frame's demand for more. A low moan filled his audials, making Sentinel mewl in response. Dazedly, Sentinel laid his servo on Kup's, holding it closer, tighter, to his codpiece. With a shaky servo, Kup reached out and grabbed the controls for the washracks, turning them on over the pair to keep anyone else away from the racks. When the doors were locked and the showers were on, other personnel knew that the washracks were occupied and that they had to find an empty one elsewhere. 

The rush of cleaning liquid startled Sentinel, but made everything even better, somehow. Kup's panel was so, so hot against his aft; his own valve just as hot beneath his codpiece. 

"S-Sentinel," Kup rasped into his audial, making his spark throb with tension. "Do you want to go farther than this? I don't want-t to force you into anything you don-" 

"Yes...! Please, Sir..." Sentinel couldn't help himself, his panel sliding away before he had even finished speaking. 

Kup made a noise of acknowledgement before rubbing at the valve folds experimentally. A frantic mewl escaped the cadet's derma as sticky globs of lubricant coated his thighs and Kup's servo, making a mess. 

The finger entered him swiftly, rubbing generously all over his mesh walls. Gasping, Sentinel moaned and spread his legs further for his sergeant, mewling as Kup released his panel against Sentinel's aft; the spike pressurized immediately, deliciously warm and heavy as it rested upon him. Another finger entered inside of him, scissoring and stretching his port wide. Hot vents tickled Sentinel's neck cabling; their frames sweltering but comfortable. 

"Sentinel..." Kup exvented, his spike sliding back and forth on Sentinel's aft with vigor. 

The cadet whined and arched backwards, rubbing his port up and down on his sergeant's cord wantonly. Whatever had gotten into him begged relentlessly for more. Sentinel felt as though he were in some sort of dream; everything seemed so surreal. 

"Kup... Sir...! P-please, I-- I want...!" 

"Sentinel...?"

Wordlessly, Sentinel reached forward to place both of his servos on the washrack wall in front of him as he arched his back and spread his legs lewdly. Looking back over his shoulder, Sentinel displayed himself to his mentor. 

"Please... uh, hm... s-spike me."

An engine rev; making Sentinel shiver. In less than a nanoklik, Kup was directly behind him again. Kup spread the outer folds of Sentinel's valve wide apart, making more lubricant escape the cadet's embarrassingly eager port. Sentinel could feel his sergeant's cord rubbing over his entrance as Kup leaned forward to drape himself over Sentinel's backstruts. The very tip was positioned to enter him, prefluid smearing over the opening and making Sentinel shiver as he grew even more overheated than before. 

"I'd be happy to oblige."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written quickly. Blep.

Sometimes, Trion would stick around the Council chambers after the weekly meetings and ask Magnus something in a hushed voice... something that inevitably led to something like this. 

Sentinel Prime's chassis shook on the meager support his hands and knees offered his overheating frame. Behind him, he could feel Alpha Trion chuckle at the pitiful display that he undoubtedly was putting out, overheating and trembling as oral lubricant threatened to leak from his mouth. The smug slagger almost always laughed at something or another in berth with him, which was utterly inferiorating, but the Prime had to admit... It made him hotter than the Pit, for some reason. 

Magnus smiled, but refrained from outright laughter. He didn't like to give Sentinel such early feedback to get him more eager to impress, but, still, he enjoyed seeing Sentinel like this; it got him revved to watch his subordinate mewl and quiver, leaking lubricants all over while the young thing waited for some sort of salvation in the form of being touched, or, better yet, stuffed with his spike. Currently, Sentinel's valve was occupied by Alpha Trion's spike; his own stood pressurized in front of his sub-commander's faceplates, so close he could feel Sentinel's outvents tease the surface of it. Hmm... should he let the Prime swallow it or should he stroke it to completion and overload on Sentinel's faceplates? Magnus tapped on his knee as he tried to decide; both options had their perks. 

"Sentinel, you're such a bad bot, not sucking Ultra Magnus' spike while he's sitting right there with it out in front of your faceplates." Trion chided, yanking on one of the sub-commander's audials as punishment.

The red bot must have heard his idle tapping, Magnus distantly acknowledged. At least he didn't have to choose. 

"G-y-agh! Uh," Sentinel hissed as his helm was pulled on, panting for a moment afterward before continuing. "I'm sorry, Sir!" 

"Are you really sorry?" Magnus asked expectantly, cupping his generously-sized chin with a servo. 

The Prime nodded frantically, moaning as Trion's spike moved inside his valve when the old bot pressed in slightly harder. "Yes! Yes...- 'm sorry, Sir!" 

"Show him how sorry you are, Sentinel, dear." Alpha Trion ordered, even while he began to push the back of the Prime's helm towards Magnus' spike. 

Ever obedient, Sentinel immediately opened his mouth and took a good three quarters of the length inside, making muffled mewling noises around the cord stretching his intake tubing. The Prime didn't fuss too much after one impaled him on their cord, or a big toy. Magnus sighed in bliss and stroked Sentinel's flushed cheeks absentmindedly. 

"That isn't enough, Sentinel Prime. You don't have his entire spike in your mouth, even! Tsk, I know you can take the whole thing; I've watched you swallow it before, remember? Here, I'll help you properly apologize to your Magnus." Suddenly, Trion was pistoning his hips back and forth, his servo still on the back of Sentinel's head, pushing the Prime down further and further... until his derma were pressed against the royal blue-colored mech's spike housing. 

Unconsciously, his throat tubing flexed around the uncomfortable presence; at one time it had actually hurt to take in the entire thing. Sentinel had adjusted to its' girth over time, to the point where he barely felt the urge to gag when Ultra would thrust into his intake with abandon. Though... the Magnus' transfluid still overflowed from his mouth, there was just too much of it. The servo on the back of his helm retreated and replaced by the familiar warmth of Magnus' larger servo. Vaguely, Sentinel heard Trion half-heartedly praise him before pounding into him harder, blurring what his processor could distinguish as words with an onslaught of mind-numbing pleasure. The friction caused by the thickly ridged member darting in and out of his port ignited the nodes in his valve over and over again, sending him into overload after relentless overload as Sentinel keened around the shaft obstructing his vocalizer. Feeling the wet tubing flex and flutter around his spike had Ultra's hips trembling with the urge to start thrusting, but he managed to keep them still even as his sub-commander moaned again. He wanted to watch Sentinel writhe as much as he could, and wanted to keep the Prime's intake open this wide long enough that oral lubricants made a mess of Sentinel's chin and some of his neckcabling. 

Holding himself still for around five more thrusts from Trion, Magnus felt the slick glide of oral lubricant where he held Sentinel's jaw steady and his resolve crumbled. His hips snapped backward and forward again, making Sentinel sputter and whine at the unexpected motion. It was good enough, Ultra supposed, that some lubricant was dribbling out; but he couldn't hold himself back any longer. Shifting a little to get a better angle, Magnus continued to frag Sentinel's intake, trying to keep in sync with Alpha Trion's brutal pace. 

Stuffed almost completely full of his two superior's cords between his intake and valve, processor spinning with the intensity of the dual stimulation assaulting his neural net, a potent mixture of pain and rapture; Sentinel overloaded, optics flaring and systems overheating, valve clenching hard around the spike as a gush of lubricant flooded out of him and a muffled, tired howl left his vocalizer. Both mechs sped up, cooing condenscendingly at him and petting his plating as their overload came closer. 

There wasn't any warning before Magnus overloaded. Transfluid burst from his spike, quickly flooding Sentinel's intake and flooding back up into his mouth and out around Magnus' spike, spurts of which clung to Sentinel's jaw and splattered onto the ground. The sounds and sight of Ultra overloading into the Prime's intake pushed Trion over the edge as well, Sentinel could only shudder as he distinctly felt a warm jet of transfluid coat his inner walls deep inside his port. Magnus pulled his softening spike from Sentinel's intake with a single graceful movement, and more transfluid sputtered out in its' wake as Sentinel coughed from the excessive fluids. Trion hummed pleasantly and followed suit, dismounting Sentinel and playfully smacked Sentinel's aft as he retreated. 

"Hmm, that was a very lackluster apology. Wouldn't you say so, Ultra?" 

"Indeed... Sentinel. Be a good bot and come show us how sorry you are."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's short but yoo.   
> I'm actually starting to really ship Lockdown/Sentinel; their dynamic is so fun...

Sentinel clenched his denta shut in an attempt to make no sound as Lockdown licked at the outside of his valve. When he noticed, the bounty hunter mech chuckled and grabbed the external node with his teeth. As he expected, the Autobot flinched and keened as their jagged edges came into contact with the nub's sensitive mesh. Mindfully keeping from hurting Sentinel too much, Lockdown slowly rolled it between them, watching Sentinel react. Both of the Prime's servos shot up and cupped his mouth, yet Lockdown could hear the bot moaning into his hands. Tears formed at the edges of his optics and his engine revved as he failed to keep a calm demeanor. Best of all, the valve spurted out a glob of sticky lubricant in response to the stimulus right onto Lockdown's chin. 

"Ya want something, Autobot?" Lockdown snickered, purposefully letting his spike brush against the Prime's leg. 

Sentinel whined quietly, not wanting to answer. Figures.   
Moving away from the array and getting to his knees, the green mech with a lopsided smirk on his faceplates made a show of stroking his own spike. He could see Sentinel's gaze fixate on his cord and felt a small tremor come from the Autobot's frame. Perfect. Aligning himself with the still-dripping valve entrance, he grabbed both of Sentinel's wrists with a single servo and pinned them above his head. Lockdown openly leered at the trembling form below him and placed his hook upon Sentinel's chestplates. 

It didn't matter if Sentinel didn't wanna talk. He had all night to make him scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blep lewd tree thanks for read yes


	11. Self-Worship [Tyran!Sentinel Prime/TFA!Sentinel Prime]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very short thing. I don't know why I wrote this.

Two of a kind? Hardly. This blue, large-mouthed version of Sentinel Prime was by no means anything like him. Brash, reckless, an egotist, loud... The only thing they shared was their names. But that was enough for the younger Sentinel Prime to latch on to. He wasn't complaining, though, being practically worshipped by his younger counterpart was hardly a chore. If he asked, the blue Autobot would move mountains for him. It required no effort to talk the young thing into doing something for him. 

The younger Sentinel's mouth made loud slurping noises as his head bobbed up and down on the older Sentinel's spike. He had to admit, his counterpart was very dedicated to pleasing him, but... He wanted a bit more than this. With smooth and curvy plating, clear features and the lack of the regular complexity of the frames of cybertronians of his world, this Sentinel was just absolute eye-candy. He wanted to feel those small and smooth legs wrap around his hips as he pushed deep inside of what must be a tight little valve. 

It only takes a simple request...


	12. Between Something Gross and a Hard Place [Lockdown/Sentinel]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short.

Ever-smug and unapologetic Lockdown was lounging on his berth with a slag-eating grin on his faceplates. Sentinel stiffened and crossed his arms over his chest. As if that was going to make him concede to recharging... there. Urgh, with Lockdown. On a regular basis. The bountyhunter unlaced his fingers from where they were folded on his midsection and patted the empty space next to him, his grin getting wider. This time, the Autobot huffed and turned his helm away, pointedly not looking at the pit-spawned outlaw. 

"Ya' know, Sentinel sweetie, you don't wanna recharge on that medical berth. You'd probably have a panic attack if I told you what I've done to bots and organics on that berth. Trust me, it isn't sanitary." Drawled Lockdown as he turned himself bodily towards Sentinel.

It was obvious he was teasing, but it more than likely was the truth. Just thinking about it made Sentinel's systems stall with revulsion. The trophies. Of course, that's where he took them from his bounties. And, organics?! Yuck. No way! Frantically looking around the room, Sentinel found there was nothing else in these quarters that could possibly function as a berth. Once he realized he was beat, Sentinel glared daggers at Lockdown and huffed. The grin on the bounty hunter's face grew vicious and mirthful at Sentinel's tantrum, but to his credit he didn't laugh at the others' expense. 

Slowly, the Autobot approached the berth and sat down on it. Taking a deep breath, he moved to lay stiffly upon his side, not unlike a plank of wood. He tried to ignore how Lockdown pressed up against his back, or how Lockdown's arm with the hook slithered around his front and pulled him back. 

"See, this isn't so bad, is it, Cutie?" 

Lockdown's vents tickled his plating, and Sentinel knew he wouldn't be able to recharge without waking up to Lockdown fondling his prone frame every morning.

"We'll see, Lockdown."


	13. GALA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party time. Sentinel just wants to go home...

Sentinel sat on the floor, optics dimmed and helm bowed. He could see his reflection in his newly-waxed and buffed thighs, and in the floor. Earlier, Alpha Trion had called him over and half-dragged him into a beautician's office, where he was treated to a full-frame wax, buffing, and of course washing. After paying the ridiculously high tab, Alpha Trion pulled him back into the transport without little more than a glance. When they got back to his hab-suite (which was more like a palace than anything), Sentinel was made to sit on Trion's bed, a leash attached to his collar and servos cuffed behind his back. After adjusting the collar so that Sentinel would have no choice but to sit up straight due to the taut leash, Alpha Trion grinned lecherously at the Prime and bid him to wait for a bit while the Council head dealt with some business he needed to oversee for later.

He turned and left, leaving Sentinel staring at the door with his servos tied behind his back and on a leash that was knotted around Alpha Trion's headboard. It was dark, almost void-like; blue optics, the white glow coming from the energon-made-leash, and the slivers of sunlight that snuck in between the blinds made up the entirety of what dim light there was in the berthroom. A groon and a half passed before Alpha Trion returned, the old mech looking giddy as he entered the room. 

"Well, Sentinel, I trust you're going to behave tonight? Because I wouldn't mind punishing you, however I don't think you want anyone to watch that happen, do you?"

Bewildered, Sentinel stared as Trion gathered up a few toys that he liked to use on Sentinel from around the room, subspacing them. 

What did he mean by 'anyone'? Who did he mean?

The Prime's thoughts were interrupted by the searing sting of the crop making contact with his thigh.

"I asked you a question, and you know very well that I do not tolerate not getting an answer."

Sentinel hesitated a moment further, trying to remember what he was going to say. Of course, Alpha Trion rewarded that with a second hit with the crop, this one in the same spot on his other thigh. 

"Answer." 

"G-h-! Y-yes! Yes, I'll be good!"

"Answer me properly!" 

Another hit upon his thigh.

"Yes, I'll be good Master-r!" Sentinel whined, his legs trembling as the cuts throbbed, still resonating with the sting of impact. 

"I doubt it, considering we haven't even left yet and you've already had to be disciplined." Trion snorted, subspacing the crop and moving to the nightstand, picking up various tools he used for punishment. 

Once he was ready, Alpha Trion untied the leash and tugged Sentinel towards him. Giving his pet one last once-over, Alpha Trion turned and left the berthroom, Sentinel padding along behind him. As they approached the main foyer, Sentinel's audials picked up the sound of music. A party? Why would Alpha Trion bring him here and why- rather, WHO was here?! It was worrysome enough that Alpha Trion seemed to be excited, the perverted old glitch. 

And then they got to the door: large, ornate, and forboding. It slid open automatically once they were in range of its' sensors, revealing a smoky parlor with around 45 people in it. Sentinel quickly picked out the faceplates of certain council members that were on good terms with Alpha Trion, but the other mecha were bots he had never seen before. The sound of someone howling close by attracted his optics to the right side of the room. His faceplates heated up at what he saw; a senator with their spike buried in the valve of another mech, who rested upon their elbows as the senator drove a brutal pace. Obviously, Sentinel realized, these were other Senators' pets! 

Well, he was technically a pet too, wasn't he?

The leash was tugged and he followed along with Alpha Trion. Together they passed council members through thick haze created by the smoke from the cy-gars and other forms of such things that Sentinel was unfamiliar with. Nearly all of the members had a bot who stood behind them or one who sat next to them on the floor. Some even had more than one. If the pets weren't sitting or standing idly they were kneeling in front of the senator, or on their servos and knees, or sitting beneath their owners, or on their owners' laps. Sentinel shuddered and turned to look at Alpha Trion's backplates. He honestly didn't want to see the wanton display any more than he needed to. 

Alpha Trion stopped in front of three mecha Sentinel recognized as powerful seats within the Council; and who were often seen chatting with Trion over a cube of high grade. These were his *friends*; and that alone made Sentinel very uneasy. Any mecha who were friendly with Trion and met him at places like this... well, he wouldn't trust them. Words were exchanged between the aristocratic mecha, and Sentinel found himself spacing out. They weren't talking about anything concerning him, so he zoned out as if he were back in the academy.

Until, that is, Trion yanked his leash forward. Caught off guard, Sentinel tumbled onto the floor. Picking himself off the floor, Sentinel looked up to find Alpha Trion's friends were encricling him...


	14. Predicament [Alpha Trion/Sentinel]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short. Something that'd been finished for awhile that I forgot to post.

"I want you wet for me." 

It wasn't just a comment, it was a command. One that Sentinel knew intimately well. Trion watched him, dim optics as he sat in his reading chair with his spike in servo, pumping slowly. Swallowed indignation threatened to spill out of Sentinel's intake again, though he managed to answer his 'Master' with a forced smile. Recently, Alpha Trion and he weren't getting along very well, to say the least. Most of the time they had contact in public was spent arguing over politics due to their incompatible doctrines. Yet Trion insisted that he still wanted Sentinel 'in his berth', so to speak. It was blackmail, plain and simple. 

Regardless, Sentinel still showed up at Alpha Trion's door, still opened his intake as wide as he could when the old Autobot wanted to frag it, still wriggled excitedly and eagerly awaited each dark cycle spent in the living legend's collar. Why? Sentinel didn't want to admit it, but part of him knew that Trion used him with all the malice that accumulates from their calignous relationship. And it made him feel. Slagging. Charged. 

It was almost as good as how he'd feel if Optimus ever did the same... 

Sentinel shuddered hard, belatedly realizing he was now wet enough to be dripping; creating a puddle on the floor. He hadn't even touched himself! 

Sentinel was further corrupted by this debauchery than he'd ever thought he would be.


	15. PSA [Ultra Magnus/Sentinel Prime]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also something short finished long ago. Magnus is kneeling out of sight from the non-sentient caneradrone. Also ::text:: = comm link.

Sentinel forced a smile as he regarded the cameradrone hovering in front of him. Hot air ghosted over his very online array and Sentinel surpressed a shiver. This was a stupid idea, but it's what Ultra Magnus wanted, so Sentinel had no choice but to part his legs and deal with it. 

::Sir, please, I don't think this is a good idea...?::

::Hush, Sentinel. Don't you want to make me proud?::

::...Yes, Sir. I'll do as you say...::

Magnus smirked up at Sentinel. ::Tell me what you're going to do, then.::

::I'm going to give my report to the drone, and no matter what not overload.::

::Good 'bot.::

Sentinel began to speak as Magnus lowered his faceplates onto Sentinel's array, giving the valve a long lap of his glossa.


	16. Musings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The after hours scrapbook has another chapter; I just screwed up with the date.

Ultra Magnus has been restless as of late, though he hid it very well, if you ask him. His anxiety wasn't about Decepticons, or politics, no, it was about himself. The problem was that he was thinking things, and musing on them very often. These things... weren't proper. He was distracted by daydreams about his Sub-Commander almost every time he was in his office. Thoughts about how enticingly Sentinel Prime's frame moved as he walked, always confident and headstrong. How he would preen given any sort of attention from Magnus. The way Sentinel would look on his back, legs crossed around Magnus' waist as he looked up at him with that eager expression on his face... 

These were what Magnus had to deal with all day. At this rate, he was worried that his underling was going to start appearing in his fluxes. Inappropriate fantasies about the Sub-Commander already bothered him almost constantly while at work and once in a while at home. So far, he had abstained from self-servicing to these thoughts, even though his spike would be stiff against his codpiece. It was tempting, though. But could he even bring himself to touch himself to the thoughts of his sub-commander? They made him feel incredibly unprofessional and as though part of him had only elected him to the rank because of his looks, but, in reality, it was because of his reckless and endangering behavior. It needed to be kept in check. 

Sentinel passed by the captain's chair, Magnus discreetly watching Sentinel's lower half as he went. Petite, compared to him, but not too small for him and his size limits-- that was enough of that train of thought. Hazy optics turned back to the report he was supposed to be reading and notarizing. He could keep his optics and processor clear of these thoughts for only moments at a time. Really, it was even easy to forget what he was supposed to be doing. He squinted as he tried to maintain focus in vain. It was odd, he hadn't found himself bored of work since vorns past; when he was in bootcamp he did admittedly daydream instead of listening to lectures, and tended to zone out in groups with his peers. But that was a long time ago, and he was sure he had matured past that, but...

Perhaps he was wrong?

"...Ultra Magnus, Sir," Jazz's voice brought him back to the now with a start. 

Clearing his throat, Ultra's vents coughed a little in an awkward manner. "Y-yes, Jazz?"

"Are you feeling okay? You've been starin' at that blank screen for 10 kliks." 

"O-oh," so he was, Magnus sheepishly realized. "Thank you, Jazz. I am fine." 

He thought he had at least gotten to opening up the report...

"Really, if you want to go take a break then feel free to. I can handle the situation here." 

"Are you sure, Jazz? I--" 

The ninja smiled fondly at him and sighed. "You work too much, and I can tell you haven't gotten much recharge. I insist." 

A protest was on the tip of his glossa but didn't escape as he faltered. Come to think of it, he was rather tired. It wouldn't be so bad to take a little nap, right? Despite his work protocols howling in his ear that this was unprofessional, Magnus nodded and turned off the display, reaching for his hammer. 

"If anyone calls or if anything goes wrong, you will wake me up, understood? Oh, and, make sure Sentinel does not answer any calls while I am not present," Magnus' tone was as serious and cordial as it ever was, hiding his sheepishness. 

Jazz saluted and Magnus left the room without another word. He supposed it was good Jazz seemed happy that he was to be taking a break; but... he could have managed, easily. When he had to, he could shove those distracting thoughts to a corner of his processor. The problem was that they were out of control during mundane tasks. Ugh, Sentinel does enough thinking about his Magnus' retirement for the both of them. If there's one thing that DOES NOT need to happen it's Sentinel getting his position. Or at least not yet. He wouldn't mind... if Sentinel weren't so reckless.

Truthfully, Sentinel was, in many aspects, a headache for Ultra Magnus, so it didn't make sense that he tended to fantasize about him at inopportune moments. Magnus walked through the hall sluggishly, thinking about his predicament. He arrived in his quaters and sat down on the berth with a grunt. At first, he had not allowed himself to think about the Prime at all, and tried to remind himself of Sentinel's unpleasant personality. Loud and almost obnoxious sometimes, prideful to a fault and then some. He would like to shut him up once in a while. The image of him holding Sentinel down on his spike as Sentinel sputtered flashed through his processor and he quickly booted it out almost as soon as it came. Sighing, Magnus laid down on his berth. It wasn't like him to want anything like this, especially with the... forcefulness he'd have in those fantasies. Sentinel was certainly arousing anger, among other things...

This really wasn't like him at all.


	17. Molten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiny thing I'm not gonna expand on.

Sentinel was uncomfortable, trapped in a meeting, unable to focus, and lubricating all over the chair. In front of him, Ultra Magnus droned on, and on, and on... and on. Everyone else in the room appeared to be calm, politely watching their host elaborate on new budget cuts and whatnot. They hadn't seemed to have detected the presence of lubricant or the signal his frame inadvertantly set off, and Sentinel wanted to keep it that way. Heat cycles usually didn't begin at such an inconvenient time like this, but this time one decided to happen at the worst possible instant. 

A small part of Sentinel, drunk off the heat cycle's charge, wanted the other mecha in here with him to notice his... problem. Maybe they could help him out...?

No! No way in the pit is he going to invite all these old mechs to stick their spikes inbetween his legs! His pride would be damaged beyond repair; and not to mention he'd likely end up sparked, which would effectively end his military career. But it was still so tempting to just... part his legs a little so that they would know. Just a little, to air out the heat between his legs... just a little wouldn't hurt, right?


	18. A Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a prompt someone gave me. This fic is kinda like a beta to precious gemstones. Working out their relationship and whatnot.

The old mech had a surprisingly demure smile on his faceplates, his frame that of a long-past-their-prime warrior, red like jewels and purplish blue. Unable to keep him waitng any longer, Sentinel coyly waddled forward and to his 'master'. Be obedient, he reminded himself. Slowly he sat down on his Master's lap without meeting the old mech's gaze. Immediately, a foreign servo was placed upon his hip and another -very- low on his back, which made him jump in sudden fright. The 'Master' chuckled good-naturedly at his squirmy new 'employee'. 

Already, he could feel his spike warming and stiffening due to the attractive little thing on his lap; the panties and the collar around the blue mech's neck enticing on the shapely form. Hmm, he couldn't wait to fondle the bot's thighs, and give them little nips, or perhaps even having Sentinel stand still while he thrusts his spike between them. Shivering, Alpha Trion grabbed for Sentinel's servo and pulled it to his panel and forced it to rub against the heated plate. Sentinel's faceplates flushed as Trion rubbed Sentinel's servo against the elder bot's warm interfacing panel, which was even getting warmer and warmer as he rubbed it...

"You are a cute one. What's your designation, sweetspark?" The pet name made Sentinel twitch with indignation, but Trion didn't notice. 

Ergh! Old bots with their cheesy pet names... Sentinel tried his best not to frown, because Primus knows what would happen if he even tried to look unhappy while in his new "employer's" lap. 

"Sentinel, Sir." 

"Such a lovely name, it suits you. Do you like your new quarters?" 

What could he say without being bluntly pessimistic? "... Y-yes, Master... they're, um, nice..." 

It seemed to work, because Trion smiled at him again with that charismatic grin. "I see, that's good. I do like to spoil my honorable guests with gifts." Trion's optics unbashedly oggled the blue mech clad in the pale canary robe that barely covered his interface array.

Unconsciously grabbing the cloth and meekly attempting to cover up more, Sentinel blushed furiously, feeling emotions akin to shame bubble up inside his tank. This old mech was nothing more than a charismatic old lech! Of course he was, if his widening grin as he watched Sentinel fumble with the fabric for the sake of modesty was any indication. To be stuck catering to such a mech's whims was a little disheartening for his pride, really. He wanted his panel back!

"That's such a lovely frock on you, I see Puresteel chose well for you. I can't wait to see what else he and Sternshot picked out for you... or rather, I can't wait to see you wearing them." 

Recoiling for only a moment Sentinel looked away, but though he quickly reschooled his expression Alpha had surely seen him falter. 

Instead of irritation, the businessmech reacted with a good-humored chortle and cupped his cheeks. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you... good care of you."


	19. Fortunate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woo.

Sometimes, Ultra Magnus drank with his soldiers. In a discreet and private location as to hide from the intrusive media that would report upon the "SCANDALOUS ELITE GUARD RENDEZVOUS", probably filled with "insider reports of debauchery and illicit materials". He wasn't the one using speeders, no, but he wouldn't say none of the Elite Guard were using speeders that evening. No debauchery to be found, either; just a bunch of soldiers having a good time. Even the mess they'd left at the table was tame compared to the ones he'd see in Maccadam's. Only two bots had purged their tanks and for the most part, almost all used containers of ultra-grade energon had made it into a waste recepticle to be thrown into the incinerator. 

Ultra Magnus took care to clean up what he could, passing time as he waited for his last guest to come to and leave. That last guest was none other than Sentinel Prime: his flighty second that was always parading around with his overbearingly obnoxious vanity it was hard not to compare him to the legendary Starscream. Around four or five full-sized cubes surrounded where the Prime was perched on his chin. Sentinel drunk himself into a stupor late into the evening; he probably underestimated the purity of the high grade that was served. He might not be moving from that spot for a little while. 

Sentinel was lucky it was one of Magnus' parties he passed out at. His subspace might've already been hacked by now at a public event. No one stuck around long enough for this to happen here. Well, unless they were like Sentinel and overestimated the amount he could drink. This was the fifth time! 

Yes, Sentinel was lucky... 

Magnus cleared away the empty glasses surrounding the Prime, smiling gently at the unconscious younger bot. It was easy to lift Sentinel onto the tabletop without disturbing the Prime's slumber, he was so conked out. He laid Sentinel on his back, facing him, already feeling a fire in his abdomen in preparation for what he was about to do. Both of Magnus' hands descended upon Sentinel's thighs and massaged the insides of them. There was barely a twitch in response. Ultra's spike pressurized and poked at the table, still slick with spilled high grade. 

It was very lucky for Sentinel to end up passed out at one of Magnus' parties, yes. Ultra took one of Sentinel's hands in his own and wrapped it around his spike, the other pulling back the interfacing panel to reveal a nice, clean array. He couldn't waste time, lest he wanted Sentinel to wake and find himself being touched so inappropriately; Magnus immediately entered Sentinel with a single finger, slowly stretching out the mesh around it. Fortunate indeed. For both of them. Offhandedly, Magnus wondered how Sentinel would react to waking up and finding his Commanding Officer masturbating himself with Sentinel's hand and a finger feeling around in his valve? Magnus moved Sentinel's servo quicker. 

He could easily order Sentinel not to speak of this to anyone. Well, really he could order the Prime to spread himself and take the whole thing if he wanted! Ultra's old, dusty fans kicked on, loud as the pit in this secluded little room. Another finger joined the first, now vigorously stretching the Prime. Why, had Sentinel fallen unconscious in any other 'bot's grasp they wouldn't have bothered with stretching him, they would have just shoved their way in and used his valve. Not that Magnus hadn't already done that, though. This time he was going to be a real gentlemech with his... Prime. Hmm, he wondered how that throat would feel. 

Letting Sentinel's hand drop to the tabletop, Magnus grabbed Sentinel by the shoulders and made him sit up. Luckily, he was slack-jawed as he slept, making it easy for Ultra to open up that big mouth of his and work him down onto his spike, which was straining and leaking by now. 

"S-such a good Autobot soldier..." Magnus groaned, Sentinel's throat so relaxed that it was no problem for him to get the entire thing stuffed inside. 

This was an image Magnus wanted to savor; the big-mouthed Prime with his lips stretched around something that'd be soo much more useful than his usual whining. Ultra dearly wanted to thrust in deeper, take his throat til his spike was sore from friction, but alas, some things are better when your partner is cognizant and crying around you. Instead, he settled for moving Sentinel's helm around, making his glossa slide all over the thick spike inside. Ultra imagined Sentinel choking and gagging along his length, doing his best to show how loyal he was; what a good bot he could be for Ultra. He could practically hear Sentinel's choked whines as prefluid coated his throat almost painfully-- and that was enough.

With a groan that was just on the verge of being too loud Ultra overloaded into that sweet, big mouth. Most of his transfluid slid down his throat, what didn't was quickly mopped up by Magnus after he pulled out. Practiced hands lifted Sentinel up and sat him down back in his seat, taking care to even place a couple empty cubes next to his sleeping Prime. 

Sentinel was so lucky he had drank too much with Ultra around.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Does anyone have any ideas for little drabbles with Sents? ('M fine w/ any ship too)


End file.
